


Quarantine

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A quarantine oneshot, Birthday gift!, Co-workers, Cursebreakers, Draco gets quarantined, F/M, single dad! Draco, so someone has to help watch Scorpius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24179371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Draco’s been pining for his coworker, and isn't it just perfect that he’s quarantined in his own home and said co-worker is helping with watching his son in such desperate need?!One shot gift fic. Complete
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 79
Kudos: 413
Collections: Best of DMHG





	Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [niffizzle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niffizzle/gifts).



> Deepest thanks to LadyKenz347 and Floorcoaster for their alpha and beta assistance!!! All remaining errors are my own. 
> 
> Happiest of early birthdays to you, niffizzle. I’m so thankful to have you in my life and to call you friend!! Thank you for being there in highs and lows! You’re just amazing, friend.

* * *

“What?” 

“Quarantined, Mr. Malfoy. Effective immediately.” The healer frowned down at her file of parchments, tutting as she flipped through them one-by-one. As if she  _ knew  _ precisely how barmey it was making him. 

Draco blinked one. Twice. And counted to seven. “And what of Scorpius?” 

“Oh you can’t see him!” Healer Taddison was aghast, almost downright horrified as she jerked her head out from the file it’d practically been buried in. “It’s possible he’s already a carrier, but to ensure his safety and health, it’s best you maintain a safe distance from him.” 

“A safe distance?” 

“Yes. Different rooms at all times.” The stuffy healer nodded, drumming fingers irritatingly over her desk. “In fact, since it’s likely he’s already a carrier and neither of your parents have had the Cornish Pixie Pox before, it’s ill-advisable he be permitted to stay with them at Malfoy Manor.” 

There was a great deal more sitting and blinking and counting in silence on Draco’s side of the desk. While old, Healer Taddison was hardly of age to have personally treated his parents for all forms of maladies and diseases. In fact, she was exactly the sort his father would complain about and demand to never see again… which meant there had been a bit of questionable digging on the healer’s part to have this information so readily available. 

But then again, a convicted former-Death Eater still on house arrest ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts and his wife… All privileges of privacy and confidentiality seemed to be tossed out the window at any given opportunity, and Draco wouldn’t be surprised if this somehow made tomorrow morning’s paper—perhaps not the headlines, but before the centerfold for sure.

* * *

“What do you mean you can’t make it?” 

“Simply that, Draco.” Draco couldn’t  _ see _ Astoria’s face through this Muggle ‘mobile’ contraption she was always using (not that he minded it being a Muggle instrument, by the by _ ) _ but he could definitely hear the eye roll in the clipped lilt of her voice. “No, no! The belt doesn’t go with the navy—where’s Milo? The _jacket_ goes with navy, and the belt with the _black_! Salazar, help me—what were we talking about, Draco?” 

_ One, two, three, four, five… _

Draco had counted. Draco was breathing. And Draco was calm. 

He hated this buggering Muggle contraption Astoria insisted they use to communicate, but he was  _ fine _ . 

He was a calm, mature adult, and he could have a simple conversation with his ex-wife over a bloody mobile.

“I’ve somehow managed to contract the Cornish Pixie Pox as an adult, Astoria. I have been quarantined. Which means I am not allowed to leave my room, and no one is allowed in.” Maybe it wasn’t fair, the icy tone to his words, and the way he was speaking to her as if she were a child younger than their own… but maybe he couldn’t be bothered to care right now. “The healer isn’t allowing me contact with Scoripus.  _ At all.  _ But Scorpius can’t stay at the Manor either because apparently he could be a carrier and he could pass it on to Mother and Father. You son needs looking after and your first response is that you  _ can’t _ come?!” 

A pause. A long pause. One that stretched until Draco wondered if the line had gone ‘dead’—or whatever she called it when she was going through a tunnel. 

“Hello? Are you still there?” 

A huffed breath answered him first. “Are you quite finished lecturing me, Draco?” 

“Have you quite finished being as unhelpful as physically and magically possible?” 

“I’m sorry, I really am.” She sighed now, long and deep, and in the background, Draco thought he caught the sound of her shifting over leather. Perhaps she’d finally stopped multitasking and was taking this situation seriously enough to sit… She started again, something mournful in her words. “And if we hadn’t gone round the bend so much in the first place, I would have been able to clarify a bit. How long are you supposed to remain in quarantine?” 

“One week, starting now,” Draco said, mentally growling at each and every day represented on his calendar. 

“All right, half a moment while I check a couple of things…” She trailed off, their connection filled with the sounds of a clicking tongue and flipping of pages. “Okay, I can rearrange a few things to make it by Tuesday, but that’s the absolute earliest, Draco.” 

Five nights and four days. He needed to work that out somehow. “Right. It’s fine, it'll be fine. I’m sure you’re pushing it even making it then.” 

“Quarterly review and board meetings and all that.” She gave a humourless chuckle from her end of the connection. “This week and next have been booked solid for a month now, but starting Tuesday, I technically don’t have to be present for some things and can use time to catch up on inventory checks, photoshoots, and the like.” 

“Right then. Okay.” Draco sucked a sharp breath, hating to even query… “What about your parents?” 

“Oh. They’re in Belize. Or maybe it’s the Bahamas… Or was it Bermuda—oh never mind. The point is they’re out of the country now, too. And Daphne and Theo have just had another baby, so if Scorp could be a carrier, he really shouldn’t stay with them.” 

“Right. Yeah.” He felt stupid that it hadn’t even crossed his mind to ask Theo and Daph if Scorpius could stay with his cousins, but she had a fair point… “And Alana is three months old now, by the way. They’ve hardly  _ just had _ her.” The jab was petty, and he knew it. 

Merlin, he needed to let steam off somehow, though! 

“What of your partner, Draco?” Astoria asked, wisely ignoring his juvenile sniping. “She was off for a week a few years back with it. I remember because you were all fidgety and nervous when I came to visit Scorpius that week. I’m sure she’d be able to assist—you both bring work home from the office often enough.” 

“ _ What?!”  _ Draco jerked upright in his seat, not at all liking the sudden and unforeseen twist in the conversation. “I’ll have you know that Granger and I are professionals and—”

“And you’ve never been less than a respectful gentleman, and blah blah blah.” Astoria bore no apology in her interruption or tone. “I’ve heard it all for years now.  _ Years _ , Draco, and yet it’s not an uncommon thing for me to come and stay for a weekend with Scorpius and find the two of you owling or Floo-calling or sending each other Patronuses back and forth over something for work. All. Weekend. Long.” She heavily punctuated the end of her sentence and Draco hated everything right now. 

_ Bugger it all _ . He groaned, flopping back in his desk chair. No, that wasn’t true. There were a great many things he didn’t hate. 

Believe it or not, he didn’t hate his ex-wife. He didn’t even loathe her work. In fact, there was a distinct note of pride that laced through him when she spoke of her career in the world of magical fashion and design. She’d found her passion and was giving herself whole-heartedly to it. And quite the example for Scorpius in that, a testament to what hard work and determination could accomplish.

It had just been one of those things after the war. They were both young. She’d been fresh out of school, and it had seemed the most natural and perfect of fits, until it became more than abundantly clear they’d been ill-suited from the start. She lived out of the country now for her job, bouncing between Paris and Milan, with monthly trips to London. That meant she still saw enough of Scorpius.

So, no. Draco didn’t hate Astoria or her work.

Her laughter tinkled through the mobile as she said, “Are you cursing the universe for conspiring against you? Or thanking it for finally giving you a reason to confess your undying love?” 

_ Bloody hell. _

He snatched at the mobile, more than done with this conversation now. “What’s that? Hello? Hello? Sorry, can’t hear you, Tori… Must have dropped the connection—talktoyoulaterBYE!”

He punched down on the button to end the call as Astoria’s laughter swelled up to something teasing and all too wicked--and too bloody on the nose for Draco’s taste. He paced in furious silence, brooding over any other option… but there were none that seemed as logical nor secretly delighted him as much as the idea his ex-wife had given him. 

* * *

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want Hermione Granger in his home. Making herself comfortable in his home. Playing with his son… No, Draco didn’t mind any of these things. He’d read enough literature to determine his condition was known as ‘pining.’ Well, not to the dramatic extent of the definition. Not to the point of losing hair, sleep, and appetite, thank you very much. 

But he’d been assigned to work as Hermione’s partner as a cursebreaker at Gringotts since shortly before the divorce had been finalised four years ago, and had been decidedly over the moon for her for three years now… And she had no idea. 

Not that he was ready to advertise it; she didn’t feel the same, and it would ruin the partnership. 

That was his daily, sometimes  _ hourly _ , mantra. A reminder of just how lucky he had it with Granger. That her friendship was more than enough, and he wasn’t willing to risk it.

There was no possible way her staying at his house and watching over his son for the next several days would jeopardise that, he reminded himself as he resumed pacing. His owl had just taken flight with his request and there was nothing left to do now but wait. 

Wait and wear down a path in the rug.

* * *

She was here. 

She was  _ here _ . 

He knew because he’d heard his son bellow out the events of his day and list every last colour of robes they’d seen inDiagon Alley—and why had Hermione insisted on taking him there before bringing him home for the night?

“AND THEN WE SAW THAT FUNNY GREEN ONE THAT LOOKED LIKE SCALES! AND THE WAY SHE WORE THE BIG RED HAT!” Scorpius dissolved into a cackle of giggles from wherever he was, doing something to Draco’s heart. His son was laughing, and he couldn’t chime in and clap him on the back or run his fingers through his hair… “WITH THAT GREEN AND GOLD EYE MAKEUP STUFF, SHE LOOKED LIKE A CHRISTMAS TREE—DAAAAD!” 

_ KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!  _

“DAD!”

“Draco?” 

“Right here, Scorp.” Draco bit back a smile as he slid his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door frame. “I’ve not gone deaf, so no need to shout, or you’ll hurt Miss Hermione’s ears—”

A small gasp. Followed by a rushed, “Sorry, Miss ‘Mione.” 

“Oof, thank you, Scorpius; but, I think you were just wanting to make sure your dad heard all about our outing before coming home, right?” 

“ _ Oooohhh…”  _ Scorpius paused, as if trying to sort out if that would work. “Yes! That’s right! I was trying to tell you about everything, Dad. You’re stuck in your room and you’re going to miss  _ everything. _ ” 

_ Yes I am. _ Draco pressed his lips into a thin line to keep from automatically outright agreeing with his son. Though, logically, he could mean it to mean a great many things, and several of them would apply only to his son. Because he loved Scorpius and loved fathering him. They had morning traditions, after all, and—

“About that,” Hermione interjected. “I have a surprise for the both of you. It’s why we had to go to Diagon Alley.” 

“I thought it was to get Dad something to eat.”

“Yes, but we also stopped in the bookshop, and while you were looking—looking and  _ not _ touching— at the pumpkins and gourds book, the owner found me these!”

“BOOKS!” Scorpius squealed, but Draco decided there would be no point in attempting to calm him in the wake of a present. In fact, the next sounds coming from the other side of the door seemed to indicate his son might have actually thrown himself at Hermione, wrapping his six-year-old arms tightly around her neck. Something ached in Draco’s chest. 

It was Scorpius’ usual response to gifts, books especially, but this time Hermione was on the receiving end of it. And Draco had missed that sight because of this stupid, bloody door. 

“Not just any books, Scorpius—enchanted notebooks.” 

There was a hint of laughter in Hermione’s voice. And mischief and plotting, and it made Draco move that much closer to the door, maybe even bring one of his hands to the wood near the door handle and press lightly. As if he could reach right through. She’d have to repeat what she’d bought again, or explain to Scorpius, because Draco had lost what the actual present was in light of current thoughts getting lost in the sound of her voice. 

“There’s two of them!” 

“That’s right,” Hermione answered, and Draco imagined her nodding as she generally did before she was about to go into detail. “So we’re going to leave one of the notebooks out here for your dad with his supper we got him. And we’ll take this one so you can draw him pictures. Or tell me what notes you want to write him. Or even practice writing him some yourself!” 

“Brilliant!” There was the sound of a loud, wet SMACK before the house all but shook in the vibrations of a running child. “I’M GOING TO GET MY COLOURED QUILLS SO WE CAN MAKE ONE NOW!” 

“Walk, Scorp!” 

“Wouldn’t you rather eat—”

_ SLAM! _

“—first…” 

Draco and Hermione sat in silence for a moment before Hermione started to giggle. “I can see you being like that before Hogwarts, you know? All enthusiastic and eager for everything.” 

“I was never that loud.” Draco sniffed, but it was in jest, and his partner knew that. That’s right: partner. It was time he reminded himself of that before… Well, no  _ before _ to it. He was stuck in isolation, after all. “Thank you for the notebooks, Hermione. I’ll happily reimburse you when this is all over.” 

“You will not, Draco Malfoy. This is a gift. You’ve framed several of Scorpius’ drawings over the years, enough for me to know this is something important for the both of you, and now he’ll have an immediate way to get some to you. And besides.” She paused, as if making sure her wording would be just right before adding, “now I have a means of asking you questions without coming back and forth to the door all day.” 

She had a point, but Draco wasn’t ready to let her thoughtfulness be cast off as something  _ less than _ … “Patronuses,” he countered. “We send them back and forth to each other throughout the day often enough.” 

“Oh… right…” Something in him leapt at the hesitation in her response. As if that hadn’t occurred to her, and she’d truly been on the hunt for a specific present for him. One with meaning and intent. She huffed before continuing, “Well, anyway, now we have this, and it’ll keep you from getting too bored or feeling too disconnected from it all. Cornish Pixie Pox is a great bother, I remember… Anyway, you always enjoyed getting letters at school, and you still do now and then I’ve noticed, so I’ll leave it here with your takeout, and see about getting Scorpius to eat—” 

“Hermione.” Draco had both hands on the door now, his forehead pressed into the wood. She rambled when she was second-guessing herself and it was imperative she knew how much all of this meant to him.  _ All _ of it. “Thank you. For the take-out and gift. And dropping everything in your life so readily for this.” 

“Of course, Draco. Bill understood and said he’ll send me little things on the workdays. But he also assured me we’ve both accumulated plenty of sick days. No need to stress, all right? Focus on getting better, and Scorpius and I will manage just fine.” 

Relief coursed through him. He reached for the door knob, then yelped, “HERMIONE! Diagon Alley! Scorpius may be a carrier for this—” 

“Bubble charm, Draco,” she cut in. “I put his face in a bubble charm once I picked him up from Andromeda’s and told him he’d get ice cream as a reward if he didn’t touch anything the whole time we were out. Teddy’s actually had it, funny enough. Apparently a Metamorphmagus are more susceptible to Cornish Pixie Pox than Dragon Pox.” 

_ Merlin, that means Icould technically stay at Andromeda’s _ , Draco thought, but Hermione was telling him goodbye for now and answering some questions of Scorp’s that he hadn’t caught.  _ Does she realise that? Does she care? She seemed happy enough tonight… _ All these questions and more Draco pondered as he opened his bedroom door and brought in the box of take-out and red-covered notebook. 

The label on the bag told him she’d gone to their usual Friday lunch deli, and an inspection of the contents revealed she’d ordered his usual. Flipping open the notebook several pages, he was able to see Scorpius had indeed already found his coloured quills and had begun drawing a series of shapes. He would likely be back later to go over all of them with Draco, and that alone was something to smile over. 

But coming to the front of the book, Draco noted a message in Hermione’s handwriting:

_  
I know it’s not the same, but I hope this helps. Drop a question in here anytime, or tell me when I’m doing something wrong. Or tell me how you’re doing, too. And if you’re in need of more potions or anything. But speaking of, I’ll start: are you all right for now? Is there anything you need?  _

_ -Hermione _

_ P.S. I asked for no onions and extra pickles. Sorry it’s a day early, but I figured you wouldn’t mind breaking tradition this time.  _

Draco couldn’t remember a time when he’d moved so fast for a quill, which was stupid in hindsight. He could have easily summoned it. Or taken his time like a normal **friend** would. **Friend.** Because that was all this was. A friendly gesture between partners to create efficient ease in communication over the next several days… 

_ Potions haven’t worn off yet, so no itching at present. Enjoy your dinner, and thank you for the notebook. It’s brilliant, as Scorpius already said… And you already know. Because it was your idea.  _ His hand froze, because, Salazar! That was bloody unprofessional, wasn’t it? And there would be no point in trying to cross it out or erase, because she could already be reading this, and what were the odds the ground would open up and swallow him whole now?!?! Groaning, his grip on the quill tightened as he hastily finished his response:  _ Thank you again for volunteering your time for this and giving up your weekend. I know Scorpius will have fun, and is in good hands, but I’m grateful. Very much so.  _

With that, Draco shoved his quill back into its perch in the inkpot and slammed the book closed. 

He’d made a fawning fool of himself enough for now. 

Time to play the aloof and soon-to-be-bored lord of the house.

_ SLAM! “THANKS, MISS HERMIONE!”  _

“Merlin.” Draco shook his head, moving back to his dinner. “Anymore of the door slamming and I’ll have to be stern father, as well.” 

He tucked in, making a mental list of what book he wanted to read in bed tonight, thinking that, all in all, this may not be the worst thing to happen to him.

* * *

Dawn broke with Draco’s skin aflame with invisible pox and it was  _ bad _ . Very, very bad. Rivaling the worst he’d ever felt.

It was as if the pixies themselves had conspired as to what would make such an ailment the most unbearable ever.

He snatched for the vial on his nightstand, uncorking it and downing it in a single gulp. 

Pain relief was slow to come, even as the potion seemed to act immediately. In no time at all he was drowsy and unsure what day of the week it was. And was it the soft patter of raindrops on the roof or if Scorpius had taken to dancing on top of the house. As long as Hermione was with him.

The blasted pox were bloody searing themselves into his skin, and  _ oh! _ The buggering pixies wanted him dead and they must have been in league with the vile Dark Psycho himself to inflict such agony on a person. And he should write a letter to the apothecary to inform them the potion was not nearly fast-acting enough. 

He really should.

And he  _ would _ . 

Once his eyelids stopped drooping and being so unliftable. 

* * *

Sometime later when the world made sense and Draco felt a bit more himself and pain-free, he found a missive waiting on him in the notebook.  
  


_ Sorry if we woke you. I had plans for loads of outdoor games today, even drew up a list for an outdoor scavenger hunt, but the rain’s nixed all of that.  _

It felt good having a note waiting on him when he woke. Something to focus on with his toast and marmalade and tea, instead of how bloody insane he’d been earlier this morning over some ridiculous spots. He shook his head at the memory. Thankfully Hermione hadn’t been in the room to witness  _ that _ .

He took up a quill and wrote her back:  _ No apologies necessary. It seems the pain potion comes with a solid dose of a sleeping draft, too, and I heard nothing until one of those big claps of thunder.  _

Words already began forming just underneath his answer, so he paused and waited for Hermione to have her say. 

_ Yes. I didn’t know Scorpius was afraid of thunder. He… _

Draco’s brows furrowed together when she didn’t continue.  _ He what? Is he all right? Did he wake up crying and asking for me? And _ _ is he all right? _ __

_ He’s fine! No need for worry now _ . There was a pause again, one that had Draco holding his breath, only releasing said breath when he read Hermione’s continued explanation in full:  _ It upset him to find your door locked this morning when he tried going to you first. But he remembered to come looking for me in the guestroom, and I got him to the couch with some books easily enough. We read for a little while together and then he helped me cook the eggs. No need to worry at all, Draco. He’s fine and we’re having fun.  _

_ All right.  _ Draco bit down on his lip, adding,  _ If you’re sure…  _

_ Positive! I’ll have him colouring in here once all the jam has been washed from his hands.  _

Laughter burst from his chest at that, a little piece of sunshine to chase the clouds of earlier this morning away.

* * *

This was bliss. 

This was agony. 

Life was more perfect and horrible than he’d known possible, and he  _ hated _ the paradox of it all. It was utter hippogriff shite to be living inside some bloody love poem, and no! That was not an exaggeration! 

Scorpius’ laughter and giggles rang throughout their modest home, his feet stomping and crashing through rooms, with Hermione always hot on his tail it seemed. Not that Draco could see. But he heard enough. Friday had passed with notes, pictures and a little practicing of writing for Scorpius inside the notebook, along with some exchanges through the door. But mostly, there had been a great deal of play to happen inside with the rain that wouldn’t let up.

And it was bloody insufferable being so close to something so happy and wonderful, yet not being able to look on. To  _ see  _ the smile beaming across his son’s face, or watch as Hermione dashed this way and that about the house… To catch a glimpse of that cute arse as it sashayed and poked out when she bent over—

He growled aloud, face falling forward into his hands. 

Who did he think he was fooling? Certainly not himself. Maybe it would help matters for him to at least be honest with himself in the private confines of his own room. At least for the duration of the time Hermione was going to be staying at the house. It may, at the very least, do his sanity some good for now.

“DAAAD! HEY DAD!” 

“Scorp?” Draco dropped his feet from their perch against the edge of his desk, rose from his chair, and crossed the distance between his desk and the window in two easy strides. “Scorp!” he exclaimed as he threw open the windows. “Hello, you!” 

It was probably silly to be waving out the window with such vigour, but he hadn’t seen his son since  _ Thursday _ , and today was  _ Saturday _ … 

“What’s that you’ve got with you?” he asked, knowing full well what his son was proudly carrying across his shoulders. 

“My broom!” Scorpius brought it around and held it up as if that would allow Draco to see any better. “Miss Hermione said if I wrote all my letters down and copied numbers up to thirty I could fly—AND I DID IT, DAD! I really did it!” 

“Really?” 

“CHECK THE BOOK!” Scorpius rocked back and forth on his feet, excitement radiating from his entire being. The sun was bouncing from his pale blond hair, almost making him seem luminous from the inside out. 

Draco summoned the enchanted notebook with a wandless “ _ Accio” _ , flipping to the most recent pages. Ah ha! “Very good, Scorp! Brilliantly done.” It really was, actually. That wasn’t just proud parental dribble. “Your ‘E’ is facing the right way this time, and so’s the ‘S’. Not a backwards letter in sight!” 

“I KNOW!” There was no need for Scorpius to shout now, but it seemed he just couldn’t help it. Or they were reverting back to a constantly loud phase.

Either way, Draco couldn’t say he minded it. The sound was a reminder he wasn’t alone in the house. That even though daily meals, beverages, and snacks were left for him, all evidence of the fact that people occupied the house with him, there was something about  _ noise _ . About the sound of laughter and happy shrieks and light arguing that chased away lingering ghosts from the past that sometimes haunted him still. 

“Go on then,” he urged, carding a hand through his hair. “Impress Miss Hermione with your daring flying skills, too.” 

And by all accounts, judging from all the outward signs Draco read from Hermione, that’s exactly what his son did. The witch had left her chocolate-brown curls down today, a rare occurrence these days. He’d asked her about pulling her hair back once at work, and she’d acted so embarrassed when answering, he’d regretted asking so loud in his mind he missed her answer. Something to do with practicality was all he’d caught. But this afternoon, her silken-looking curls floated and danced in the soft breeze. The smiles she smiled, the way she cheered and the clap of her hands, they were all tell-tale signs of a classically happy Hermione. 

And the way she caught Scorpius up in a massive hug when the sun had dipped below the horizon and the sky had begun to exchange its hues of light blue for dark navy, orange, pink, and purple… The way she spun him around and around and his son squealed in delight… The way Hermione’s eyes seemed to seek his from over Scorpius’ shoulder… The way her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone as they moved back into the house… 

Something deep in his chest  _ ached _ over it. All of it. 

And gave him reason to hope. 

Foolish as that was. 

He shook his head, closing the window once he’d heard the backdoor close. It all could have been a trick of his eyes. A side effect from the potions he’d been taking.

* * *

He’d just taken his nightly potion dose, and sleep would be ready to overtake him soon. He blinked twice at the quill in the inkpot on his desk. A very bad idea indeed. 

Oh well. He snatched at the quill regardless, opening his enchanted notebook to a fresh page after Scorpius’ evening drawings. There was no reason to believe she would have it with her for the night. No reason at all to dare to imagine she’d be up and flipping through the pages as he was, much less thinking of him… 

And still, he wrote:  _ I think you’ve already gone to bed, but if you’re still awake, or if you’re reading this tomorrow morning… I wanted to thank you. For today _ — _ for everything, really. But especially today. It meant more than I can say. _

There. That would suffice. He’d likely hate himself tomorrow, but—

Words were forming on the page under his message. 

He blinked several times and rubbed his bleary eyes. Eyes that were growing heavier by the moment… No. This was a trick of the lamp light. A figment of his imagination. 

And since that was all it was, there was no harm in bringing the book closer to his face to study the message, to admire every rushed loop and swirl of Hermione’s penmanship:  _ I know you like flying with him, Draco. We needed the sunshine after all day indoors yesterday, and I thought it would bring you some extra cheer, too. Besides, I’m sure it was nice seeing him finally. He doesn’t stay the night away from you often.  _

Well, then. Since this was all of his imagination anyways, might as well answer… 

_ No, he doesn’t. It was great, and I’m more than grateful to have someone so observant and thoughtful helping me out. By the way, your hair looked pretty. It always does, up or down, but you looked like you were having more fun than usual with your hair all down and catching in the wind.  _

He sucked a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. Buggering notebook had him dropping his guard, and feeling all too comfortable saying things he would otherwise be content to keep to himself. Or maybe it was the potion. 

Either way, he dared not breath as a response formed under his pathetic paragraph of confession. 

_ It was fun. I’m… well, I’m not used to being around children this much. I was focused too much on my Ministry career while Teddy was younger, and then the job switch to work at Gringotts, to work with you… He’s a good boy, Draco. Smart and a lot of fun and your relationship is something special. I know you’re very proud of him, but I hope you give yourself credit, too. You’re doing an incredible job raising him. It can’t be easy, and I don’t know if you’re praised enough for it, but I’ve noticed before and am seeing it even more so now.  _

He found himself reading that over and over. Until his eyes were too heavy and all the words blurred together… And he wasn’t certain if this was a dream or not.

* * *

He woke up in pain in his desk chair the next morning, not remembering why he was now in more pain than necessary. Not that the reason mattered. Nothing mattered beyond taking the potion to numb the pain of these invisible buggering blights on his skin…

Hours later when he’d come to again, Scorpius was pounding on the door, ascertaining (read: yelling) as to his health. He was groggy and sore, but he answered his son that he was quite all right. It wasn’t until he’d slipped on a fresh pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt and picked the notebook up from where he must have dropped it last night that he really and truly felt like he was all right. Hermione’s words remained. 

They remained, but nothing else came of it. Perhaps Hermione had regretted her words. Perhaps in keeping things to a minimum and allowing Scorpius to be the main speaker, she was telling him there was nothing more between them beyond friendship and professionalism. 

As long as she wasn’t continuing along that thread, Draco resolved not to cross any other lines while she stayed in the house. He thanked her for what she’d said, and she’d left it at a simple “ _ you’re welcome,” _ but that was it. 

So it was only natural that Draco would not be at his best when Astoria arrived to relieve Hermione on Tuesday. His posture had been stiff, though no one could see him through the door, and he honestly thought of kicking himself for that. His farewell to Hermione had been clipped and flat, his hands stuffed in his pockets and back rigid until he heard the roar of the Floo that signalled her departure. 

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself as his head sank into the door. He spoke to Astoria and Scorpius for a while through the door, accepted lunch when they brought it, but he did little more than move the food from one side of the plate to the other. It was a humdrum afternoon and the beloved notebook was less enjoyable knowing a specific someone wouldn’t be writing in it as well. 

_ Tap, tap, tap _ ! 

An owl flapped outside his window, and it… 

It wasn’t  _ unwelcome _ .

Just not what he’d wanted. He opened his window and one of the Gringotts owls flew in, perching on Draco’s desk, dropping the missive, and ruffling his feathers.    
  
“Probably a list of all that I’ve missed,” he said to himself, snatching at the letter. “Or a decision to not grant that all these days be paid sick days after all…” He trailed off, his throat thickening as familiar looping handwriting stared back at him on the parchment. 

_ Hello Draco,  _

_ I think I was a bit awkward leaving today, and I don’t know why. Or rather, I do, but that’s not of your doing. It’s just me feeling out of place and insecure when in the presence of a completed family, which is silly, because you’ve been divorced for ages now. Like I said, my own doing and not you. Anyways, thank you for asking for my help. I was more than happy to do it. I hope you’re on the mend much sooner than Thursday, even though I agree you should take the whole week off. Really. Spend the extra time with Scorpius, and I’ll see you on Monday. We’ll have our usual for lunch, okay? Mediterranean at that little place in the city, and it’s my treat this time.  _

_ Get better soon, Draco. Don’t forget to take your potions. _

_ Hermione _

A letter. From _Hermione_. A letter that… was _enough_. More than enough! 

He snatched up his quill and scribbled an order on a blank sheet of parchment. “To Flourish and Blotts, please,” he asked, holding it to the owl.

The bird seemed to glare a response in the negative as she blinked back at him. 

“Please?” Draco wiggled the letter in front of her. “For an extra treat a day for the whole first week I’m back at Gringotts?” 

Whether she understood him or not, Draco would never know. He would presume she did, though, based on the fact she grabbed at the letter, taking off in a huff. He had his response less than an hour later: the owl returned all but spitting his parcel down on the desk. 

“Thank you!” he yelled as the bird darted out the window, not waiting to see if there would be another errand to run or any corrections to be made with the order. 

Untying the twine and unwrapping the brown paper, Draco smiled down at the navy notebooks staring back up at him. In no time at all, and with the assistance of Astoria, he’d written a message and dispatched one of the notebooks to its intended recipient. In the suspenseful time between, he watched as Astoria conjured a lawn chair and cheered Scorpius on as he flew on his broomstick. He participated from the open window, watching the open notebook from the corner of his eye. 

His heart leapt in his throat as a message formed under his hastily penned words. He’d put himself out there just enough with a simple:  _ In case you wanted to keep talking in my absence from work. I know I would… _

Hermione had written him back. 

She’d. Written. Him. Back!

_ Would love to, Draco. And this is much more efficient than using owls.  _

She’d drawn a child’s version of a smiley face at the end of her sentence and Draco took that as a good sign. A very good sign for how the rest of the week would go. 

* * *

He didn’t know how he’d managed to be right, but he had been. The message, the drawn smile, the notebook… Everything had gone incredibly well the last several days. 

Maybe  _ too _ well. But maybe Draco shouldn’t question things so. 

Astoria had been amiable, and she and Scorpius had done well together his last week of quarantine. Scorpius hadn’t gotten sick, and after a morning at home alone with his father, he’d been more than excited for lunch and an afternoon playing with his cousin at Andromeda’s. Maybe several days and nights in a row of flirting messages in their notebooks should give him enough hope, enough self-assurance to just… give it a whirl. To cross that line with Hermione and see if she’d have a proper lunch date with him.

_ Yes _ , it would be on her lunch break, as he had taken the day before the weekend off, and  _ yes,  _ she wouldn’t have had too long, but still. He’d hoped for it to have been the start of an important conversation... 

Yet, Draco felt nothing short of deflated as a goblin from Gringotts peered down from his perch, answering Draco in a superior huff: “She’s not here, Mr. Malfoy. And as you’re officially supposed to still be off on sick-leave, I suggest you remove yourself from the premisess before someone from upper-management sees you and presumes you to not take your profession as serious as we would prefer.” 

“Very well.” Draco gave a sharp nod. “See you Monday, then.” 

“Good day, sir.” The goblin’s voice was clipped, if dry as a bone as he saw to having the last word, adding, “We are glad to see you have made a full recovery.” 

Draco swallowed a snort as he exited the bank; the goblin sounded anything but pleased, but perhaps it wasn’t in their nature to be excitable over much of anything involving wizards.

The sun shone brilliantly and a gentle breeze blew around him. The world felt too alive, too open to possibilities for him to simply return home. Not yet at least. Perhaps a stroll to Thursday’s usual and lunch in the sunshine was in order… 

He stopped short as he rounded the corner, because there she was. 

At the deli. Sitting at their usual table nursing a cuppa tea and reading. 

It’d be such a normal thing to walk up on, Hermione Granger getting lost in a book in the middle of the day, but Draco stopped himself from entering the restaurant and joining her at the table. The book was half-lifted by magic as she drank from her teacup, and Draco would know that book anywhere. He had the exact replica in his own coat pocket. 

He rooted in his pockets for a moment, fishing for a self-inking quill and his navy covered notebook. Sucking a sharp breath through his nose and biting down on the inside of his lip, he started to write.    
  
_  
Lovely day, yeah?_

It took a few minutes to get a response, longer than Draco would have liked, but it seemed Hermione hadn’t been reading their most recent pages of communication. Yet, he couldn’t complain, not really. She smiled one of her happy sort of smiles while flipping from one page to the next, and he felt his heart could burst. 

Even so, it was nothing compared to seeing her find his latest message, and dig for a self-inking quill from her purse. 

_ Gorgeous. Hope you’ve managed to get out of the house now that your quarantine has lifted?  _

A smile of his own tugged at the corners of his lips.  _ A bit. Stumbled across a lovely, though not rare, siting for a Friday afternoon. A beautiful witch with her curly brown hair all loose in the wind, occupying her usual Thursday table… _

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Draco?!” she yelped, rising from her seat, her gaze searching the sidewalks and streets. “Draco?” 

Another sign that was more than enough for him. 

“Hermione!” He crossed the street and the remaining distance between them in less than ten strides. He counted all of them. Every last one, holding her warm chocolate-brown gaze all the while. “Hello, you.” 

“Hello.” A rosy tinge bloomed under her freckle-spatted cheeks and she tucked several curls behind an ear. “I presumed you’d be spending the day with Scorpius.” 

“I thought so, too,” Draco answered, tucking this notebook and quill back in his pocket. “It seems I’m only interesting for so long, and then there’s no comparison when it comes to fun to be had with his cousin.” 

“Ah, I see.” Hermione giggled and motioned to the empty chair across from her. “I’ve already finished up, but would you like to share a pudding with me? I couldn’t get here yesterday, and had a craving for a Thursday on a Friday.” 

“Of course.” It was only now he permitted the beginnings of a smirk to curl up his face. He could still do this; he could make an attempt at courage, dating, and a relationship. “But only if you allow me the pleasure of taking you out for dinner this weekend. Tomorrow, if you don’t already have plans.” 

She canted her head, even as her body leaned into him. “Dinner? Something work related to catch up on the week you missed, or...” 

“As a date,” he supplied, taking her hand in his, slotting his fingers in the gaps between hers. “A proper date. With me. No doors between us, and no loud children to interrupt conversation.”

Something softened in her features, even as her eyes lit with a mischievous glint. “And what about maintaining a safe distance?” she asked, tilting her face up. 

_ Mine _ . 

Every fibre of Draco’s being growled in agreement, but he dared not speak it aloud. Not until they were both absolutely certain. It seemed a good start that she didn’t back away when he dipped down and kissed the corner of her mouth, followed by her cheek, and then the tip of her nose. 

“I’ll let you make the judgement calls there, Hermione.” 

“We both will, Draco,” she said, pillowing his lips with hers in a kiss that was over far too soon, but full of all the promise of what tomorrow could hold. 


End file.
